Breathing the Story (collab with Prim-One of KC, MO)

I long to tell stories

that will breathe when I cannot.

That dance

when my feet fail me.

That sing in notes

only known to those who have felt me love.

That will remember love

when the world has forgotten it.

That will form over the wounds

of the broken, like fresh flesh mending them.

That will tell us to be willing to try and

fail again at a moment's notice,

even if only for the hopes to bleed less and

heal sooner in the future.

Stories that will finally

sit down and play with that inner child.

The one who is very smart if not a bit overzealous.

That will shine, in the caverns of my mind,

so that I may see the moral and understand its intent

That will file down the edges of my political leanings.

There is a beauty in gray, even for the color blind.

There is a break of daylight

even in the darkest times.

When our daydreams are courting our nightmares

during hours we once spent in slumber

peacefully,

these stories will be our lullabies.

They will speak, clear and soft

to mute our screams of war,

laying us gently in their beds of irony.

There are stories

where the words are so beautiful

we forget about the existence of pictures.

And movies.

And light.

These stories are told by the ancients

through modern tongues.

They have the longing that makes us remember

that have not all we want.

The search is the universe!

It's infinite.

It's expanding.

There are stories in the stars

that we ignore every night of our lives,

but if we reached out

to touch these brittle pages above us,

would they rip in our hands?

Would we understand the language in which they were written?

I wish for my stories

to help translate these novels of hope.

To mediate for my family extended.

I long to tell stories that will breathe when I cannot.

That breathed before I could.

For conflict only comes from misunderstanding.

They suffocate the sound

until silence is the only tale left.

Unfortunately,

silence holds can hold comfort but

it can also substitute meaning for intent.

Silence splinters through our sentences unwelcome, but

will always wrap us in its arms

when we are alone,

when our words and our world,

no matter how colossal or minuscule,

have abandoned us.

I want my stories to embrace silence

as it has embraced us.

To kiss its cheek

as it has kissed ours.

To return the favors of forgiveness

it has shown us,

no matter how undeserving we were of its grace.

And as silence breathes forever, so will these stories.

Even when I cannot.